To those fortunate enough not to have it, photographic memory sounded like a blessing.
A strange little superpower gifted by fate, one that many people imagined would make life easier and richer in ways ordinary minds could never manage.
After all, who would not want the ability to remember anything they had seen even once with perfect clarity, or the pleasure of reliving their happiest moments exactly as they unfolded?
To most people, it sounded wonderful.
The power to never forget, to carry every cherished memory untouched by the slow erosion of time while the years quietly slipped by.
But for those unfortunate enough to be cursed with it, the truth was far less romantic.
Because memories were never meant to last forever. They were meant to fade, soften, and eventually blur into something distant as the mind gently erased the edges of things too painful to carry forever.
Forgetting was not weakness.
It was mercy.
The mind buried fear, buried grief, buried nights that were too dark and screams that were too loud.
As without that quiet act of erasure, the past never truly became the past, and instead lingered with the same sharp edges it had carried in the moment it first occurred.
However, unfortunately for Riven Veyr, forgetting had never been an option, as his mind had always remembered everything, right from the very first moment his life had begun.
—--------------
"Alira look, he’s got your green eyes!
Just like Lyra...
It looks like your blood won yet again!"
Those were the first words Riven had ever heard, and till this day, he remembered them with the same clarity as the moment they were first spoken.
He remembered opening his eyes for the first time and watching the faces of his family as they gathered around him, their expressions lit faintly by the fire while the cold night pressed quietly against the walls of the hut.
Torren Veyr, his father, stood closest, his thick beard and gray eyes giving him the look of a true northman.
While beside him stood Lyra and Daren Veyr, his siblings, seven and eleven years of age, both watching him with curiosity evident in their eyes.
And then there was his mother, Alira Veyr, who held him as though he were the most precious thing in the world, her eyes filled with nothing but love.
Riven remembered all of it as it had been, every face and every expression preserved without distortion or loss, the moment remaining intact within him long after time should have blurred it into oblivion.
And that was the problem.
Because memories like that were never meant to remain unchanged, they were meant to soften and blur as the years passed, until even the sharpest emotions dulled into something distant and survivable.
But Riven Veyr had never been given that mercy, and so when everything was taken from him later that winter, nothing truly faded, nothing lessened, and nothing was ever forgotten.
—--------
He was seven months old at the time.
And it was supposedly the worst winter the Blue Frost Tribe had seen in nearly two decades, as the valley had fallen into a brutal famine that slowly strangled every settlement clinging to life across the frozen frontier.
Food had become scarce, hunting had grown dangerous, and even the forests had begun to empty themselves of animals, as those that survived migrated to other lands in search for warmer environments.
Riven remembered the tension that had begun settling over the village in the days leading up to the raid, a quiet dread that clung to the elders whenever they gathered near the fire after sunset.
His father had been among them.
Torren Veyr had spoken often with the other hunters, his voice low and serious while they discussed empty traps, failed hunts, and rumors of starving tribes growing desperate beyond the mountains.
Because in winters like that, men did not simply starve.
Eventually, they began hunting each other.
And that was exactly what happened, as the tragic raid began three nights later.
Riven remembered the sound first, a deep war horn that sounded like an angry moose call, echoing across the valley, before soon being followed by the sound of steel colliding with steel, as chaotic screams spread rapidly through the Blue Frost Tribe.
He also recalled the precise moment his mother froze.
Alira had been breastfeeding him when the horn sounded, her entire body going rigid while Daren rushed towards the doorway with conviction.
The young boy snatched the knife hanging beside the entrance and stood in front of the door, gripping the weapon with trembling hands as he resolved to protect their household, as even now, Riven could remember seeing his brother standing there.
Small.
Afraid.
But refusing to move aside.
While behind him, Alira pulled both himself and Lyra into her arms, before then whispering under her breath to the Goddess Of Moon.
"Please Minerva... please let the tribe warriors prevail..."
Her voice trembled while the sounds of fighting grew louder.
Boots crushed snow outside.
Men shouted.
Steel rang somewhere beyond the hut while the sounds of battle crept steadily closer through the village, until eventually, heavy fists slammed against the wooden door.
*THAK*
*THAK*
The entire hut shook as the pounding grew louder, the frame rattling violently while someone outside barked impatiently.
"OPEN IT! IF I HAVE TO KICK THIS DOWN, I SWEAR I’LL MAKE YOUR DEATHS THAT MUCH MORE PAINFUL!"
Someone shouted from beyond the door, as Daren tightened his grip around the knife.
For a brief moment he hesitated, glancing back toward his mother and siblings while gathering whatever courage a boy his age could muster.
Then he pulled the door open, as cold air rushed inside.
Two warriors stood waiting, beyond the gate...
The first was enormous.
A grotesquely large man with layers of fat hanging over crude armor while a thick beard covered most of his face.
His name was Brakk.
And before Daren could react, the man’s massive hand shot forward and slammed him violently against the wooden frame.
*CRASH*
The knife slipped from Daren’s grasp, his tiny form struggling helplessly beneath the warrior’s crushing strength, as the second man stepped forward calmly.
Unlike Brakk, he was tall, lean and sharp eyed, and Riven remembered his name to be ’Kell’.
*SLASH*
Suddenly, steel flashed once, as Daren’s resistance ended before it had truly begun, his body collapsing into the snow outside the doorway, as the two warriors stepped into the hut unopposed.
*Step* *Step*
Brakk entered first.
And in each of his thick hands he carried something dripping with blood.
Two severed heads.
Torren Veyr and Daren Veyr, as for a moment after the family saw it, they froze.
*Thud* *Thud*
Brakk casually tossed them across the wooden floor, the severed heads striking the planks with wet, hollow thuds before rolling slowly to a stop in front of the two women huddled on the ground.
Torren’s lifeless face turned toward them first, while Daren’s head came to rest beside it, his eyes still half open as blood continued dripping from the ragged cut across his neck.
For a moment the hut was completely silent, as Alira stared at the bodies in shock, her eyes moving from one face to the other as if her mind refused to accept what she was seeing, her lips parting slowly as the last fragile pieces of her world collapsed all at once.
Then the scream came.
It tore out of her throat like something had broken inside her chest, a raw, animal-like sound that filled the hut and refused to stop.
It wasn’t a single cry.
It kept rising.
Breaking.
As her body jerked forward on instinct.
"ARGHHHHHHHHHH—"
Her hand shot out toward Torren’s severed head lying only a few feet away.
But Riven was still in her arms.
She had him pressed tightly against her chest, her grip locked around him without even realizing it, which meant that she could not bend forward all the way... and as a result, she stopped just short of reaching him.
*Tremble*
Her fingers stretched out anyway.
Desperate.
Shaking.
But the distance didn’t close.
She couldn’t let go of the child, and because of that, she couldn’t reach her husband.
So her hand remained there, hanging in the air, while Torren’s lifeless face stared back at her from just beyond her grasp.
*Sob* *Sob*
Beside her, Lyra cried.
"Mother... m—mother... f–father... darrr—"
Her voice broke with every word, but Alira barely heard her.
Her breath came in uneven gasps, her shoulders trembling violently as her entire world collapsed into the sight before her.
Brakk watched it all with open amusement.
He leaned lazily against the hut walls, his small eyes moving across the room as he took in every detail of the chaos he had created, until his gaze settled on Alira, and stayed there.
In her panic, she had pulled Riven tightly against her while trying to reach forward, and in doing so, the front of her dress had loosened, the fabric slipping lower than it should have, exposing a part of her chest.
The cloth no longer sat properly, leaving a clear view of her cleavage as her hair fell loosely around her shoulders.
Even through tears and grief, she looked striking in Brakk’s eyes.
Her green eyes were bright, her skin pale in the dim light, and the raw emotion on her face made her seem even more alive to Brakk, whose lips slowly curled into a grin.
His eyes moved over her body without restraint, lingering where they shouldn’t as he smacked his lips, as though he had just found something valuable.
"Ain’t she a beauty?"
"I’m sure she’ll fetch a high price."
He muttered, as his eyes lingered shamelessly across her chest for a moment longer before shifting toward Lyra.
"So will the daughter," he added with a chuckle.
"Those green eyes are exquisite."
The two men laughed quietly.
Lyra pressed herself tighter against her mother while shaking uncontrollably, her small hands clutching the blood-soaked fabric of Alira’s clothes as the child struggled to understand the nightmare unfolding around them.
"What about the newborn?" Brakk asked while nodding toward the child clutched tightly in Alira’s arms.
"Is it a boy or a girl?"
Kell inquired, as Alira pulled Riven closer to her chest.
*SNATCH*
Brakk stepped forward anyway.
His thick fingers ripping the infant from her grasp before she could react, as he lifted the child carelessly and turned him over, before glancing down.
"A boy."
Brakk said, as his grin widened.
"Well then... time to die young one."
He concluded, as he was about to kill Riven, when suddenly, it was Kell who stopped him.
"No, Brakk."
Kell’s voice cut through the hut sharply as his hand caught the larger warrior’s arm before the axe could fall.
Brakk frowned.
"But the chief said spare no male survivors."
Brakk argued, as Kell shook his head slowly.
"The prostitutes always kill themselves when they have nothing left to live for."
He nodded toward Alira.
"We sell the younger girl to the spider. He pays the most for girls this age."
"While the older woman goes to Hagrid."
His eyes gleamed with cold calculation.
"I’m pretty sure Hagrid will pay us more if we deliver the woman with a child she must protect...."
Kell suggested, as Brakk scratched his beard in confusion.
"Why?"
He asked, as Kell smiled faintly.
"Because a mother with a child to protect becomes obedient... Like a dog.... Doing everything that she can to please the customers."
Brakk considered the idea for a moment.
Then shrugged.
"Fair enough."
Brakk muttered before tossing the child back toward Alira, who caught Riven desperately while pulling him tight against her chest as if someone might tear him away again.
However, instead of taking Riven, the two men seized Alira and Lyra by their hair instead and dragged them out of the hut as if they were nothing more than livestock.
Outside, their village was burning.
Torches moved between the huts like wandering stars while thick smoke rose slowly into the frozen night, carrying with it the scent of ash, blood, and dying fires.
Men shouted.
Women cried.
Children screamed.
And unfortunately, Riven witnessed it all.
He remembered being dragged across the snow in his mother’s arms while Alira struggled desperately against the grip in her hair, her breath ragged with grief as she twisted repeatedly to look back toward the hut that had once been her home.
But the village was already gone.
The warriors of the raiding tribe moved through the settlement like scavengers, kicking open doors, dragging captives into the open, and looting whatever little food remained inside the starving village.
A crude wooden wagon stood near the center of the clearing, with iron bars having been hammered across its sides.
Inside it were already several women from the tribe.
Some cried quietly.
Others stared blankly ahead.
One or two struggled weakly against the ropes binding their wrists, as Brakk shoved Alira forward without ceremony.
"Get in there sugar, I’d hate to swell up that pretty face, but I will hit you if you make a mess!"
He warned, as Alira stumbled inside the cage while clutching Riven against her chest.
"In you go as well.... Chop Chop!"
Kell said a moment later, as Lyra was thrown in as well, after which the gate was slammed shut.
*Click*
Outside, the warriors laughed while finishing their grim work, while behind them, the Blue Frost Tribe burned.
What had once been a stubborn little settlement of hunters and families had been reduced to smoke in a single night.
*Screech*
*Tumble*
A few minutes later, the wagons began to move.
Iron wheels creaked against the frozen ground while the captives sat silently inside the cage, their grief swallowed by the roaring celebration of the raiders marching beside them.
No one bothered to look inside.
To them, the child clutched quietly against Alira’s chest was nothing more than a helpless infant, a harmless nobody far too young to understand what had happened and certainly too young to remember any of it.
After all, he was only seven months old.
But as the burning village slowly faded into the distance behind the wagon, Riven Veyr watched the flames through the iron bars of the cage and committed them to memory without knowing that he had just become the last living son of the Blue Frost Tribe...
A survivor cursed to carry the destruction of his entire people within him for the rest of his life.